


Waiting

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Animal Abuse, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-03
Updated: 2009-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray has to get off his ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

It was the ugliest scene Ray had come across in a good long time, and he could feel Fraser standing stiff and horrified next to him. The howling of the dogs and the sickly smell of them was overwhelming; Ray had to breathe through his mouth while he roughly cuffed Atkins' wrists.

The asshole was still muttering something about his rights and America and other extremist bullshit. Ray felt pretty lucky that when he and Fraser had tracked the killer to his hole they'd caught him in the back yard, away from his home defense AK-47 and his protected-by-the-Second-fucking-Amendment elephant gun, because otherwise the whole thing could've turned out a lot messier than it did.

The dogs were so loud Ray almost didn't hear it, but he picked up Dief's whine and looked over to see Fraser kneeling face-to-face with the wolf, who was whimpering and shaking, looking like he could barely keep his legs locked. Fraser had both hands deep in the ruff of fur around Dief's throat, and when Fraser raised his eyes the expression on his face was blank, so blank it was bleeding.

"Ray, I think I should take Diefenbaker home. Now," he said, his voice dead. "We'll take a taxi."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Ray said. He watched Fraser nudge Dief around the side of the house, away from the sight and smell of the poor dogs, chained, snarling, half-starved and feral, fur matted and slick in places with pus from wounds that were festering. Ray pulled Atkins to his feet and shoved him roughly toward the house, the vicious barking and growling fading behind them.

It took Ray an hour to get the scene secured and Care and Control out there to deal with the poor animals. Ray phoned Welsh and gave him the status, begging off his report until he could get some sleep. Atkins he had dumped on a hapless uniform, Jenkins, telling him to take the asshole back to the station and book him. Ray didn't have the time or the patience. He had to get to Fraser.

_That look on his face..._

When Ray broke into the Consulate he discovered Fraser sitting on his cot with Dief in his freaking _lap_. Fraser looked up and raised his finger to his lips, then eased out from under, leaving Dief asleep on his bed. Another first.

Fraser pushed Ray out of the office and closed the door quietly. Then Fraser sort of leaned on him, and Ray instinctively put his arms around him, not surprised when, after a moment, Fraser did the same, holding him hard.

"Ray," Fraser said in this completely fucked up, broken voice, and—Jesus—Fraser was trembling. Ray registered it a split second before Fraser let him go and retreated to the Consulate kitchen.

Ray stood there, reeling a little from too much—_what?_—before he followed. He found Fraser at the stove making hot chocolate. Not surprising, since it seemed to be Fraser's usual reaction to anything really screwed up going on: _hey, let's make hot beverages_. Ray watched him in silence, watched Fraser's hands shake as he poured the milk, watched him force himself calmer and calmer, until he passed Ray a cup of cocoa and they were sitting across the table from each other.

Fraser stared at him, not even bothering to pretend to drink from his cup. Ray felt a _waiting_ feeling, the same one he'd felt off and on ever since they got back from Canada, and he admitted to himself he knew what Fraser was waiting for, had known about it ever since they started on their adventure up north. They couldn't do anything about it then, because, let's face it, alone together in the middle of an ice field, depending on each other for survival, was no place at all to find out you didn't both want the same thing, or that you hated each other and it wasn't going to work out.

So, it was a moot point up there, and Ray had been relieved, because the truth was he hadn't been ready to admit this _thing_ between them even existed, because that would mean—his whole life—a fucking joke—and Stella, it would mean Stella was right and it was his fault about them, too, even though it hadn't even been a real thought in his head, not really, not back then, because goddammit he loved her. But if he—if he and Fraser—then she'd smile at him, this ugly, knowing smile. And anyway, there was all the time in the world to figure this shit out, wasn't there?

Except, no. Not the way Fraser was looking right now.

Fraser cleared his throat and tipped his head at Ray's cocoa. "Is it not to your liking?"

Ray took a hasty sip. "Nah, it's good. It's good, Frase." But it hurt to swallow. "Dief looked pretty upset."

Fraser winced, turned it into a frown. And Ray could swear he saw tears in Fraser's eyes before he looked up and away, turning his head. Fraser stood and went back to the sink, poured out his drink, and rinsed the cup. When he turned and leaned back against the counter he had his face on straight again, and the waiting look was there, blue and heavy, but he still didn't say anything.

And he wouldn't, Ray knew. It was up to _him_. Because Fraser had already done his part, hadn't he? He'd followed Ray back to Chicago. He was here, had _been_ here, waiting patiently for Ray to give him something, something to tip the scales—no, more: something to make it worthwhile for Fraser to live here, where the snow was too dirty and the weather too warm and the fucking psychopaths killed people and tortured dogs and it was up to them to stop it all the time.

Fraser needed something to come home to afterward. Something to _make_ this home.

That was supposed to be Ray.

Jesus, he'd been screwing this up so badly, because he was such a fucking pussy, and still Fraser was here. Only this was the last straw, Ray knew it. This was his last chance.

And maybe he was a pussy, but he wasn't stupid.

Ray stood up and walked over to set his cup in the sink, reaching past Fraser to do it. It put them close, really close, and it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to put his arm around Fraser's waist, and lean his chin on Fraser's shoulder, holding him lightly, the brown wool scratching under his fingers and chin.

He felt Fraser take a deep breath and shift minutely, and then somehow they fit even better.

"Ray," Fraser said, his voice so low it rumbled, "Is this—?" He was shaking.

"Yeah." Ray tightened his arm and moved his foot so his thigh was pressed against Fraser's. "Yeah."

Fraser let out his breath in a deep sigh, and then his arm came up to slide around Ray's hip, and he tilted his head so their faces were touching, just a little patch of skin, Fraser's cheek against Ray's temple. It was the warmest place in the world, that small space. Ray knew they could make it bigger. He could imagine the two of them, bare naked and touching all along their bodies. All that hot skin.

But not tonight. Tonight he was still sick to his stomach, and feeling terrified about what he'd almost lost, and he just wanted to hold Fraser, and maybe Dief, too; the three of them could all fit on Ray's big bed, and sleep good and long, and maybe tomorrow have waffles with real whipped cream and even put some in their coffee.

Ray pulled back and shifted so he and Fraser were face to face. He put his hand on Fraser's pale cheek and leaned in, giving him a kiss, soft and sweet. Just a promise. When he pulled away, Fraser's eyes were still dark, but so wide, and filled now with something other than sadness. Something hopeful and clean.

"Come on," Ray said. "I'm taking you and Dief home."

...

It turned out just like he planned, except instead of waffles, they had pancakes.

And Dief ate four.


End file.
